


Blow Your Own Mind

by cygnaut



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Telepathic Sex, in media porno, sexy issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles have some issues to work out when it comes to using telepathy in the bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow Your Own Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This might be partially based on [a Drunk Hulk tweet](https://twitter.com/DRUNKHULK/status/405070105349873664): "DRUNK HULK DATED TELEPATH! BUT BROKE UP WITH HER WHEN SHE REFUSED TO BLOW DRUNK HULK MIND!"

The first time Erik and Charles have sex Erik tugs on his arm and mumbles, "Charles, come on, please, I want to feel you."

"Hm? Like this?" Charles asks, his hand sliding down Erik’s stomach to his belt.

"Uh," Erik says. "Actually I—" He cuts himself off to bite his lip as Charles undoes the buckle, his fingers fumbling over the catch. Erik thinks he should probably stop being a lazy jerk and help him with that, but before he can even complete the thought Charles gives up and stuffs his hand down the front of Erik’s pants without bothering to unzip them.

"No," Erik gasps. "I mean, yes, sure—oh." He finally manages to be helpful, getting his zipper down with the flick of one finger and gasping as the Charles uses the extra room to adjust his grip and start stroking him. "But—I mean, I wanna feel…" Erik's voice turns into a rather unsexy whine so he reverts to body language and puts two fingers up to his head, pressing against his temple. "Up here."

Charles' hand stills, making Erik let out a decidedly unsexy whimper. He twists his hips and thrusts up into Charles' fist, trying to get him to start again.

Charles shakes his head, bringing Erik's attention back up from his sadly neglected cock. He’s frowning, and it begins to dawn on Erik that he’s possibly made a serious mistake here. Charles pulls his hand back, his eyes skirting away to the side. "I don't do that." He says it firmly, like a rebuke.

"Oh," Erik says. There’s a pause, during which Erik realizes Charles is looking over at his chair next to the couch and starts to panic slightly. "Oh. Sorry. Then, come here?" He brings his arm up to Charles' neck, tugging until he turns and lets Erik kiss him. Erik keeps pressing kisses around his mouth and nuzzling again his cheek until Charles relents and opens up to him. Things get back on track then, and it gets less awkward once Charles drags himself completely into Erik’s lap and starts touching him again.

Erik ends up taking Charles to bed and it goes all right considering that Erik is still learning what works for Charles. But Charles seems a little distant, and Erik can't figure out what to say or do to repair the damage.

Asking "Why not?" apropos of nothing afterward is probably not the best approach, but that doesn’t stop it from coming out of Erik's mouth. Erik is lying sideways on the bed with his head on Charles’ stomach, and he feels Charles’ long intake of breath as he considers the question.

"People get weird about it sometimes. They have such unrealistic expectations for telepathic sex."

"Oh. So it's not that great?" Erik shifts onto his side so he can see Charles’ expression better, turning just in time to see Charles rolling his eyes.

"No, it is. But it's hard to control. It's not just physical sensations; emotions and thoughts inevitably start leaking all over the place. And then instead of a fun time without any strings attached I end up learning all about someone’s sex life with their ex or the celebrity they're fantasizing about or their past abuse or—whatever."

Erik was under the impression that there were strings involved here, but maybe he was mistaken. His mind is also very sexy and mostly free of baggage, thank you very much. Although there was that moment earlier when he was taking his socks off and got distracted trying to remember if he had enough clean work shirts for the rest of the week. He's glad Charles didn't overhear that.

Charles spends the night, which is nice, and he kisses Erik goodbye in the morning, which is also nice. Erik is feeling pretty positive overall, and tries not to dwell on the mind-sex thing at work. By midday he’s nearly forgotten the whole business.

But maybe it’s still bothering him a little, since when he meets Charles for dinner that night he ends up bringing it up again before they’ve even ordered food. He spends several minutes staring at the sushi list first, unable to focus on any of the descriptions. He doesn’t really care what they eat, he just…

"I don't have unrealistic expectations," he says.

Charles raises his eyebrows. "About dinner? Oh." His face sets as he realizes what Erik means, his jaw tightening. "Honestly, Erik, you're such a private person, are you sure you even want me in your head?"

"Yes, why would I—I trust you."

"Uh huh. There's trust and then there's inadvertently showing me a slideshow of all the times you humiliated yourself with a girl in high school." He raises his menu back up and stares at it, but Erik is never one to let go of an argument gracefully.

"So what? I don’t mind if you see my embarrassing sexcapdes. Who doesn’t have a few embarrassing sexcapdes?"

Charles grits his teeth, still refusing to look up from the menu. "You say that now, but in the moment, when it backfires and it’s not all rose petals and mental orgasms, then it’s _my_ fault."

"I’m not expecting fucking _rose petals—_ "

Their waitress chooses that moment to arrive at the table. "Uh, do you want to hear the drink specials?"

"We need a minute," Charles says, frowning at Erik. "Maybe several."

Erik gives her approximately two seconds to get out of eavesdropping range before asking, "Is it because you don't want me in _your_ head? Is that it? Do you not trust _me_?"

Charles finally puts down his menu. "Because you’re acting so trustworthy right now. No, Erik, it is the reason that I am told you yesterday, that I am telling you now because I am not an asshole who refuses to admit the real reasons he does things and exists in a permanent state of denial."

"That’s not fair!"

"If you don't like me psychoanalyzing you then I promise you're not going to like me reading your mind. California or spicy tuna?"

Erik starts to say several different things in response before baring his teeth and answering, "California."

"Avocado is out of season."

"Then why did you even—I don’t care!"

After some very tense roll negotiations they manage to salvage the rest of the night. Barely.

To his surprise Charles comes back to his apartment, which Erik takes as a sign that the previous night actually went better than he assumed. Which means tonight should be even better if he can just keep from saying anything stupid.

Something stupid like, for instance, "I didn't even have sex in high school! I mean—second base, sure, but—"

"Oh my god, you are such an asshole," Charles says, pushing away from him and using the back of the couch to pull himself upright.

"Well, yes, but the point I’m trying to get at here—"

"I don't care what your point is. No." Charles picks up his t-shirt and spends several minutes trying to untangle it before pulling it on backwards. He doesn't even bother with his button up, simply tossing it over the back of his chair before he swings himself onto it. "Ugh, why is your couch so soft?"

"Wait, don't," Erik says, pulling up his pants and stumbling as he chases after Charles into the foyer.

"Bye," Charles says, pulling his scarf down from the coat rack. "Call me when you get your head on straight." He wheels over the threshold and slams the door behind him while Erik curses.

Erik angrily does the dishes after Charles leaves while trying to ignore his increasingly uncomfortable erection. He ends up monologuing out loud all the things he wishes he had said while Charles was there.

"And why are you assuming I'm like all the other dicks you've slept with without even _looking_ first. At least give me the benefit of the doubt. It's like you don't _want_ to know me."

He means to take a cold shower, but ends up masturbating angrily instead. Just as he comes he remembers getting caught by Magda's mother in eleventh grade in her basement with his hand up her shirt and nearly dies of secondary embarrassment all over again.

Erik thinks about emailing Charles the entire following day, composing several lengthy messages in his head. He can’t seem to get the right balance of apologetic, conciliatory, and refusing to admit any actual fault. In the end, he decides that it's too complicated for written communication (not that his verbal track record has been so great lately) and goes over to Charles’ apartment instead.

Erik runs into Charles right in front of his building. He has four bags of groceries balanced in his lap in a stolen plastic grocery basket and an annoyed look on his face. Erik’s not sure if the annoyance is for him or for the general frustration of shopping while in a wheelchair. Probably both.

"The thing is," Erik says, taking the biggest bag from him. "I feel like you're not giving me the benefit of the doubt here. God, what did you buy like three cartons of milk?"

"I'm lactose intolerant," Charles says, shifting the bags around searching for something in the bottom of the basket.

"I know!" Erik says, taking a second bag from him so he can get his keys out.

He takes a third bag in the lobby when Charles stops to check his mail and then the fourth when they get to the door of his apartment. Erik follows him in and dumps the bags on Charles’ kitchen table. "Were you out shopping for bowling balls?"

"Sure, come right in," Charles says, sighing and shutting the door behind him.

Charles starts unpacking and handing various items to Erik, who opens the pantry and starts stacking them at random. "You're just assuming I have some weird telepath fetish or creepy sexual stuff you don't want to know about."

"It's not that," Charles says, handing him a jar of maple syrup. Erik puts it in the fridge like he knows Charles hates.

"What is it then?"

"I've had a few bad experiences and I’d just rather not, okay? Now will you please drop it?"

"It's just—I get if it's a one night stand and you don't want to be all up in someone's—stuff." Erik waves his hands around his head in a gesture to indicate sexual hang-ups, relationship history, and general emotional baggage. "But don't you want to know about my stuff? _I_ want you to know about my stuff. And I want to know about _your_ stuff."

"Erik," Charles says, softening for the first time in the conversation. "Of course I care about your stuff. I would just prefer you _tell_ me about it."

"I'm not always good at saying things."

"I might have noticed." Charles sighs and goes over to rearrange the items in his pantry more to his liking. "Okay, look, I'm fine with us experimenting a little, but it has to be on my terms."

Erik crosses his arms and leans against the fridge. "Which are?"

" _I_ decide when we try it and you stop bringing it up in a series of repeated non sequiturs."

"That’s—fine," Erik says. "Okay, I can do that."

"Good. Also, we're not doing it while we're still mad at each other because that's just a recipe for disaster."

"I'm not still mad."

"Uh huh."

Charles doesn't give him the green light until around a week later when they're making out on Erik’s couch again. Erik is busy nibbling the edge of Charles’ ear while Charles makes breathy mumbling gasps against his neck.

Erik’s never really been a fan of ears. There’s something almost genital about them, but in a completely unattractive way, with their obscene whirls and loops of flesh and strange waxy secretions and tastes. Charles’ ears though, these he finds very appealing. They’re nicely proportioned to his head, not too large aside from his fleshy earlobes, and most of the time they’re partially hidden behind curls of his dark hair like demure seashells. Erik also likes how very, very sensitive they are, and how easy it is to get Charles worked up just by sticking his tongue in his ear.

"Oh god—fuck, hhhuhaah—" Charles says. "Okay, okay, hold on a moment…"

Erik kisses his way down Charles’ jaw in response. He’s just about to suggest that they move things to his bedroom when Charles pulls away from him. Erik starts to follow, leaning in for another kiss, but Charles puts his hand on his chest to hold him back.

"What?" he asks.

"Hold on," Charles says. "I’m going to try a thing. Don’t freak out."

"What kind of thing?" Erik asks, but then he notices that Charles is holding his fingers up to his temple. " _Oh._ "

He waits, holding still and watching as Charles arches one eyebrow in a dramatic show of concentration. After about thirty seconds he has to take a breath. "Uh, are you going to do something or…?"

_I am doing something._

_Well, I’m not feeling anything—_ "Oh." Erik suddenly becomes aware of a strange pressure in his head, one that seems to be shaped exactly like the curl of Charles’ lips as he smirks up at him.

 _Yes, hi._ Charles’ thoughts somehow have the same quality of smug confidence as his bedroom voice.

_Hi, okay, so this is weird._

_This is nothing, move your hand._

Erik still has a grip on Charles’ upper arms, and he glances down at his hands waiting for something to happen. Nothing does, so he shifts to rub over Charles’ shoulders, enjoying the shape of his well-defined muscles. As he’s bringing his hands down to Charles’ biceps it dawns on him that he is feeling everything twice, both the sensation of touching Charles and being touched at once. It’s like having double vision, every movement multiplied by a strange ghost sensation of mirrored hands on his own body.

"Okay, that’s weird."

_Bad weird?_

"I don’t know yet, _weird_ weird." He runs one hand all the way down to Charles’ wrist and tangles their fingers together, his confused nerves still struggling to process what is happening. His sense of what Charles is feeling comes in flashes, flickering on and off like his brain is trying to filter out the secondary sensations in confusion. He brings Charles’ hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles, feeling a momentary flash of wetness and a flick of tongue across the back of his own hand. Closing his eyes seems to help, letting Erik focus on the sensations without being confused by the visuals. He strokes fingertips down the center of Charles’ palm and along the sensitive inside of his wrist, both of them shivering at the sensation in unison.

 _Okay, good weird,_ Erik decides, and feels Charles smile.

They start kissing again in earnest, and Charles keeps upping the ante, pushing sensations to Erik along with little flashes of fantasy and memory. An image from a few days ago, Erik kneeling over him on the bed and licking the delicate point of one taut nipple. Another that must be part fantasy of Erik on the floor looking up at him, accompanied by the physical sensation of his hands tied behind his back. Erik sucks on Charles' lower lip and sees a quick flash of the first time he kissed Charles, overlaid with something that must be memory—the nostalgic recollection of kissing on a bed and the feeling of someone moving between his legs. Erik sees a momentary flash of an unfamiliar woman, a teenager really, and a floppy-haired kid that can only be Charles.

Erik shivers and breaks away from Charles’ mouth to pant. "What was that?"

"Sorry, does it bother you? You reminded me of—well. That’s what I meant, about not being able to control things. Sometimes memories get triggered and you both share them."

"Oh, no, I don’t mind, but when was that?"

"The night I lost my virginity," Charles says, looking fond.

"Oh my god, were you _twelve_?"

He laughs again. "Not twelve, no, but I was a bit sexually precocious. I started college at fifteen, remember?"

"Ugh, I can't believe they let you live in the dorms. You should have had a chaperon with you at all times."

Charles laughs and kisses his shoulder. _You're such a prude,_ he says, his thoughts laced through with affection.

_Yes, being concerned about your repeated statutory rapes makes me such a prude._

Erik finds Charles’ face and kisses him again, his hands roaming, wandering up Charles’ shoulders and down his back, tracing the line of his spine all the way down to the point right above Charles’ injury where his nerves go haywire and spark oddly as he draws his fingers across it.

 _Oh, that is strange,_ Erik thinks.

 _Yes, which is why I don’t really like it,_ Charles says, and Erik can feel the forceful intent in his thoughts as his hands move up higher, back up to the planes of Charles’ ribs.

Erik opens his eyes, blinking in confusion. "Did you just move my hands?"

Charles stiffens in his arms, the muscles in his back tightening. "Um, yes, that was me."

"You can do that?" he asks, pulling back further so he can get a look at Charles’ face.

Charles is blushing, or maybe just flushed, and he bites his lip before answering. "Yes, sorry, I should have asked first."

"Whoa," Erik says, and kisses his cheek. "That is so hot."

Charles lets out a relieved giggle in response, tightening his hold on Erik’s shoulders. "Glad you think so."

"We should do something with that. Want to go lie down and direct me where to lick?"

Charles laughs. "God yes."

In the bedroom, Erik discovers further dimensions to Charles’ powers as his hands wander over his body of their own volition. Interestingly, Charles guides him back to his hands and lower arms right away. He can hardly hold still as Erik licks over the inside of one wrist, tracing each vein and tendon while Charles twists and shudders. Charles shows him a particularly wonderful spot on the knobby bump where the edges of his wrist and palm meet and Erik sucks gently at it until it gets to be too much and Charles pulls him off.

Charles leads him over to his chest next, having Erik follow the line of each rib from the ticklish center of his sternum and around the downward curve to his flanks. Erik can feel each breath inside out, the rise and fall of Charles’ chest under his hands and the burn in Charles’ lungs as he forgets to breathe and then gasps for air.

Erik is kissing along Charles’ stomach, enjoying the feeling of having his hair ruffled while also experiencing the sensation of his own hair under Charles’ fingers, when he notices an interesting constellation of freckles above Charles’ hip. It looks vaguely like a trio of freckles Magda had in the same spot, and he’s licking the edge of them when he remember how he did the same thing the last time they had sex. Back when he thought everything would be fine. Back when he thought that they’d do what they always did, which was cry a little and have a lot of sex and patch things up, and then everything would go back to normal. Back when he thought it wouldn’t be the end of the world or the last time he’d ever see her hip or the abrupt conclusion of the only relationship he’d ever felt completely safe in.

"Um, was that…?" Charles asks, but Erik is already getting up.

He goes into the bathroom and runs the faucet, splashing water over his face. His eyes are red when he looks up and leans his forehead against the mirror, smearing water on the glass.

Charles wheels into the doorway while Erik’s still staring at his own reflection. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Uh…" Erik’s exhale comes out a little shaky so he takes another breath before he starts again. "Yes. It’s okay, I don’t mind that you saw, I just—I forgot about that."

"Uh huh," Charles says, pulling a towel down from the rack. He holds it out and Erik takes it from him, wiping the water off his face

"You can say I told you so."

"I don’t really want to."

"You told me so." Erik turns, seeing Charles slumped sideways in his chair, his head resting against the doorway as he looks at him.

"That’s the thing with telepathy. Our minds are random. Terrible thoughts come out of nowhere, bad memories get triggered by the most innocuous things, and… it leaves you vulnerable in ways you weren’t expecting."

Erik nods. "I see. So that’s why you don’t like doing it?"

Charles shrugs. "It’s not that I dislike it, it can be really great, clearly, but… I think it’s better for, you know, more serious relationships."

Erik doesn’t know what to say to that, his tongue suddenly sticking in his mouth.

"You have to be ready for that much intimacy," Charles continues. "To really know one another, or it’s too much too quickly—"

"Don’t break up with me," Erik says. He clears his throat when Charles straightens up a little and gives him a startled look, clarifying, "I mean—agree to be my boyfriend first, but don’t break up with me."

Charles starts to laugh but cuts it off, stopping himself. "I don’t want to break up with you, Erik. Let’s at least go steady first."

"Really?" Erik’s not quite sure he trusts this, taking a hesitant step toward Charles and then stopping.

"Yes, really!" Charles holds a hand out to him and Erik takes it, sliding to one knee to hug him and feeling the smile on Charles’ lips twice as they kiss.


End file.
